


Unholy

by The_Onyx_Moon



Series: From the Outside [5]
Category: Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Mutual Masturbation, Smut, Voyeurism, abuse of (literal) power, abuse of magic powers, heimdall's dreads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 23:15:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19029943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Onyx_Moon/pseuds/The_Onyx_Moon
Summary: Betrothed to the god of thunder, you begin a new life of Asgard.  Part of that new life is the intriguing, mysterious Gatekeeper that you just can’t seem to stop thinking about…





	Unholy

**Author's Note:**

> Heimdall’s rockin his dreads in this because we are not about to ignore that Ragnarok did Idris Elba goooood.

You can’t pinpoint the moment it happens, but sometime after reaching Asgard, you fall head over heels for The Gatekeeper.

Your first glimpse at the golden-eyed man is when you arrive via the Bifrost with your father and several guards.  He picks you out of the clump of people, those all-seeing eyes rooting you to the spot.

He terrifies you at first, nothing but stoic glances and silent passings.  You think he hates you, but then you realize you couldn’t be more wrong.

The princess of one of the smaller realms, your father had struck a deal with King Odin.  A princess for the young, bullheaded prince Thor and in turn, your bloodline would produce an heir.  Honestly, you hadn’t listened to it all.  You were never one for politics.  

You’d never met the prince, but you’d heard he was quite handsome.  But you highly doubted he overshadowed the beauty of The Guardian of the Bifrost.

The palace becomes your home, though you’re not sure how at home you feel with guards constantly tailing your every move.  You prove to be a handful, always giving your charges the slip.  You’d never been a fan of authority in the first place, but being in the infamous Asgard and unable to explore?  Yeah, you weren’t going to let the experience pass you by.

One instance when you slip free from your Asgardian bodyguards, you find yourself outside of Odin’s legendary vaults.  The giant, iron door taunts you - begging you to open it with promises of treasure and knowledge alike waiting for you on the other side.  Before you can heed the beckoning, however, a strong hand clamps down on your shoulder - successfully scaring you out of your skin.

You swivel to lay into whoever has just given you such a fright, but forget your voice the second your eyes meet glowing golden orbs.

“That would be unwise,” He says, eyes darting to the door you’d been eyeing and you practically melt through the grates in the floor.  His voice is as molten as his eyes, reaching the deepest depths of your body and rattling you fully.  You gape openly at him then, his stoic expression unnerving you completely.  You beg him not to turn you into Odin.  So he doesn’t, and instead takes you to the chamber where Thor, his brother Loki, and his brothers and sister in arms are all drinking and dining to their heart’s content over the recollections of battles past and to come.  Thor beckons you to him, winding a strong arm over your shoulder as he hands you a mug of ale.  His hand isn’t nearly as unarming as The Gatekeeper’s had been, but you keep the thought to yourself.

That night you learn the Guardian’s name is Heimdall and that he is capable of seeing everything within the nine realms.  The thought warms both your blood and your cheeks, but you brush it off as effects of the ale.  That night you also lay with Thor for the first time, flashes of dark, strong hands and bright, glowing eyes dancing across your body haunting your thoughts instead of the golden prince who takes you.  You lie with Thor, but your thoughts are all consumed by Heimdall.

After that night, any time you slip away from your watch, it’s to go straight to the Bifrost.  You smile in greeting each time, nodding at his deep “I knew you were coming.”  He’s mostly silent, your afternoons in the Bifrost usually filled with clipped tales of all the things he’d seen.  Moments like these offer you the perfect opportunities to really take in all he is.

A stature that towers over even Thor himself, Heimdall fills any room he enters in his ornate golden armor.  The headpiece upon his head adds to the height, the horns melting into long, intricate braids adorned with many like colored beads that travel down his back.  You long to fist your fingers in those braids, to pull the helmet from his head, and pull those plush lips to your own.

But he is not yours.  And you are not his.  You are not even your own.  You are Thor’s, and even though you spend each day with the Guardian, every night it is Thor who breeds you.

One night, long after your betrothed has fallen asleep, a wicked thought plays in your head.  Of what the all-seeing Guardian saw when he looked in on you.  Does he turn a blind eye on your and Thor’s lovemaking?  Does he look deeper, watching the way your body greedily takes Thor’s?  Do his powerful ears hear the cries of pleasure plucked from your body?  Does he pretend it’s he who plucks them just as you do?  The thought has heat rushing between your legs once more and you wake the perfect specimen at your side with wandering hands and lips.  The prince groans under your attention, not questioning your sexual appetite and you let him undo you once more for the night.

The next day, Heimdall’s stoic facade cracks only ever so slightly at the sight of you.  A cocked brow, the hintings of a smirk, and you take pride in the fact that you’ve affected him even this much.

“Do you see everything?”  You ask, gowns billowing as you plop down on the steps beside him.  His hands stay fixed on Hofund, though his piercing eyes lull towards you and the flash of flesh you grant him as you seat yourself.

“Yes,” he answers shortly.  “Everything.”  The truth sets fire in your blood and a giddy smile on your face.  He chuckles lowly, white teeth peeking out from behind his pillowy lips.  “You, princess, are trouble.”

That evening you take control with Thor.  You have him on his back quickly, the prince showing no signs of resistance.  In fact, he lies back, hands behind his head as he relinquishes the control to you.  He bids you ride him, ride him well, and you do.  Eyes screwed shut and mouth panting open as a secret show for your admirer and you dig your nails into the golden prince’s pecs.  His thundering cry of release deafens him to your sigh of another’s name, and you know Heimdall hears you as you whisper his name with your own release.

It keeps this way for weeks, all leading up to your impending marriage, and you wonder what would happen were you to become pregnant with Thor’s child.  Would the prince still want you?  Would Heimdall?  Would he still pin you with that intoxicating gaze?

Mere days before you are to be wed, Thor, his brother, Lady Sif, and the Warriors Three are called to battle.  Much to Frigga’s irritation, the ceremony must be pushed back.  You do your best to hide that fact that you’re vibrating with excitement.  It’ll be your first night alone since arriving here, but alone is the last thing you wish to be.  Forbidden pleasures flash behind your eyes, thoughts of seeing Heimdall without all that heavy armor for the first time making your mouth water.

But that night he doesn’t come.

Nor the next night.

You don’t see him until the third day of Thor’s absence when you storm into the Bifrost, hands on hips as you glare up at him.  He doesn’t take his eyes off of the gate as he rumbles low in his throat that “I knew you were coming.”

“Oh, did you?”  You snap, temper boiling.  “Knew I was coming now?  Or knew I was coming last night on my own fingers to the thought of you?”

Golden eyes swivel to you then, flashing fire, scalding and blistering.

“Both.”  He growls before looking back to the infinite space before him.  A sick sense of satisfaction washes through you at that, and you know you’ve gotten to him.

“Oh?  Then where were you?”  You question, ascending the steps to where his hands rest on Hofund and he stands solid as stone.  Your mouth waters at your proximity and with a glance behind you to make sure you weren’t followed, you wrap your arms around his waist.  Your lips scrape at his ear, voice soft as you whisper “I was waiting for you to come and take me.”

A fury and a strength he hadn’t shown before frighten you as he wraps his hands around your wrists and he spins in your grasp.  You wince in pain, not entirely unwelcome as he hauls you away from him.

“And you will keep waiting.”  He snarls, teeth bared and lips curled back.  You’re unsure whether you’re put off or turned on by this new side of Heimdall you hadn’t seen before.  “You are not mine to take.”

Eyes wide and face flush, you run from the Bifrost as shame washes through your veins.  How vain and childish to think Heimdall could  _ever_  want you…

But it doesn’t stop the fantasies.

In the nights that follow, your bed remains empty as Thor attends to other business and you have nothing but your fingers and your thoughts.  But not even those can satisfy you.  Not after seeing Heimdall like  _that_.  All that anger and might…It’s his name you cry out in your sleep, not your princes.

You don’t go to see him after that day.  Too ashamed at your behavior and the way he denied you.  You spend days in your chamber, emerging only for food and drink.  When Frigga asks you what’s wrong, you dismiss it as longing for your betrothed to return though you know she doesn’t buy it for a second.

Tonight is no different, you bumbling around your chambers like a zombie.  You would never admit it to anyone, but Heimdall has undone you and you’d barely spoken to the man.  He enrages you, enthralls you, makes everything inside of you boil!

Ugh!

No use in letting the thought of him steal any more sleep from you.  You glide to the vanity set in the corner of your room, the flames from the candles setting the reflection of your eyes aflame…no…not the candles.

Your _eyes_  are the flame, burning golden embers and suddenly the room isn’t yours anymore.  You blink a few times, rubbing gently at your eyes and you wonder if you’d finally snapped.  You’re in someone’s chambers, but who’s?

“Princess.”  The deep bass notes of his voice send shivers down your spine and you turn to see Heimdall perched on the edge of his bed.  No golden helmet.  No armor.  Just the impossibly large man in soft cottons and cascading braids.  Your mouth waters at the sight.

“Heimdall?”  You reach for him, your fingers ghosting through his cheek.  With a gasp, you pull away in fear.  What was happening?

“Do not fret.”  He coos, standing and running his knuckles along where your cheek appears before him.  Neither of you feels it, per se, but the magic tingles against your skin and his.  “It’s merely my sight I can lend you, though if I could lend more I would.”  You cock your head at that, but remain silent.  “Princess, do not mistake my ire for hatred.  Believe me, I wish I could have you.  But I didn’t trust speaking about this where any ears could hear nor any eyes could see.”

Realization dawns in your breast, your eyes widening comically.

“You…You want me?  Like I want you?”

“If not more, Princess.  I have since I first saw you.  But you were always meant to be my Prince’s.  And I am nothing if not loyal to the throne of Asgard.”  He steps away then, hands scrubbing roughly over his bearded cheeks and smoldering eyes.  “I could never have you.  Never touch you.”  He turns to you then, eyes flashing with knowing as he plays back a scene for both of you to watch.  Thor, rolling over you with powerful thrusts as you cry out in pleasure.  That night, it wasn’t Thor’s name you’d breathed in your sleep, but Heimdall’s.  When the vision fades, he’s staring straight into your soul.  “Never  _take_  you.” 

“I don’t love him.”  You whisper, unsure of where the words come from but not bothering to stop them.  He nods slowly.

“I know.”

“And he doesn’t love me.”  Again, he nods.

“I know.”  His eyes are downcast, crackling in the low light.  After a few moments, he sighs and his eyes find yours again.  “I see all.”  He reminds you, a sad smile cracking his stone facade.  “He and Lady Sif…”

Your stomach rolls at that, shock and relief rolled into one and your mind takes off running at 100 miles an hour, wondering how you can make this work in your favor.  How you can break your deal with Thor but stay in Asgard.

“Princess.”  Heimdall’s gentle, rolling voice clips the thoughts short and you look to him once more.  “He is still my prince, even if he is unfaithful.  He may not be loyal but I am.  You belong to the throne.  I  _cannot touch_  you.”

Heat blooms low in your gut at the ferocity of his tone, his words clipped and final but unintentionally misleading.

“I know,”  you reply, your hands going to the ties of your robe.  One thick, dark eyebrow raises over those blazing irises and his eyes lock onto the skin teasing him behind silk.  “But you can see me, right?”

Knowing where this is going, but ever hesitant, he nods slowly once more.

With bated breath, you drop the ties open.  Your skin pebbles under the cool air of the room and you feel blindly for the chair in your chamber.  The moment you find it, you seat yourself slowly, casting your legs wide and reveling in the way Heimdall sucks in a breath between clenched teeth.

“Then let _me_  see  _you_.”

The meaning isn’t lost on him, his eyes flashing with furor and hunger.  Slowly, oh so slowly, those large hands reach for his own ties.  Ever the loyal soldier, he hesitates.  “Princess-”

“You won’t touch me, right?”  You challenge.  “You’re technically not even _here_ , right?”  He doesn’t answer with words, but a slight tilt of his head is enough.  “You aren’t breaking any rules.”

He growls, his robes falling to the floor, and your mouth  _waters_.  He’s  _gorgeous._ Ebony satin skin stretched taut over rippling muscles, plaited hair peppered with silver.  Bare before you, you drink him in greedily.  He stands.  You remain seated and let the feeling of his towering figure rattle you to the core.

He’s larger than Thor, in  _every_ sense - a feat in and of itself.  The golden prince is no small man.  Yet this beast of a man dwarfs him.

Silently, he takes one, then two steps towards you until his shadow is cast over where you’re leisurely sprawled.  You bite back the smirk that plays at your lips at the thought that you have this all-powerful man at the mercy of your every whim.

“It’s **unholy** ,” he rumbles, dropping to his knees before you.  “How much I want you.”

The thrill runs through you at his admission and you know he can see how wet you are from where he’s kneeled.  He licks his lips.  You shiver, your hand coming to rest at your thigh.

“I’ve thought of you,”  you admit, your fingers finding your opening and you shutter.  “When I’m with him.  Wondered how it would feel when you touched me.”

“Yes.”  He breathes, and it isn’t a question.

“Wondered if you would be rough like he is.  If you would take your time or use me for your pleasure.”  The pad of your index finger drags over the bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs and you shiver at the first touch.  At your feet, Heimdall groans, those golden eyes locked on your ministrations.  Your own golden eyes drag over his form and lock where he fists his calloused palm around his cock.

You wish his hands were on you.  Wish you could do far more than just look at him.

“How would you touch me, Guardian?”  Molten eyes stare into your own, steal the breath from your breast.

“I would  _worship_ you.”  He snarls, thick lips curling as he flicks his wrist slowly in time with your own movements.  His magic shimmers with the action and you’re reminded that you’re on separate ends of the palace yet oh so close.  The thought is thrilling.  “I would make your body sing for me long before I sought my own pleasure.  And even when I did, I would make you crumble countless times before we were done.”

“Show me,” you beg - breathless.  Your eyes lock on where he strokes himself, doing your best to keep time with him.  “Show me how you’d take me.”  You beg.

You expect him to stroke himself faster, to show you with his fist how he’d pound into you with abandon.

What you  _don’t_  expect is that disarming magic to invade your mind’s eye and show you what you want most.  Shades of the two of you materialize and you moan at the overload of imagery.  The shade of you is stretched out on his bed, writhing and crying out as his powerful hips roll into your own, his massive hand holding you down to perfect the angle.  Something inside of you flutters and you mewl at the utter emptiness you feel.  How you long for him to be inside of you, and the figures dancing behind your eyelids doing nothing to douse that particular fire.

Heimdall stays kneeled before you, his free hand ghosting - literally - over your thigh and you desperately want him to be able to touch you.  Losing yourself in the moment, you reach for his face - palms cast wide to cradle his face.  When your palms meet nothing but arm, you cry and curse.

“I want to feel you!”  You beg.  “Please, Heimdall, I want to feel you.  I want you to fuck me!”  Something snaps in his stone features then, his eyes fluttering shut at the sound of you moaning his name.  And he wants to give you what you want.

Focusing as much of his magic as he can into just his free hand, he touches your thigh once more.  You jolt when the callouses catch on your skin.  Two sets of wide, gold eyes find each other and without a second thought, you cast your legs wider and beg with abandon.

He doesn’t deny you.

Nimble, ancient fingers drag up your folds, tripping over your clit.

You whine.  He growls and presses the pad of his thumb tightly over your pearl before circling it with a head-spinning pace.

His name becomes a prayer - blasphemous - and you’d never cried out for Thor like this.  He knows, had heard and seen you each and every time you’d taken the prince into your body and the knowledge sends you straight into euphoria.

Slick coats his magic - literally - fingers and he breathes in the scent of you, cherishing the taste before he’s spilling over his own fingers as well.

Silence looms in his chamber as you both catch your breath, the air hanging heavy between the two of you.  He says nothing as he retrieves his robe, but not before cleaning himself up.

Those searing eyes lock you in place but he doesn’t say a word before blinking slowly and pulling his magic sight from you.  You want to beg him not to, to use his magic to pull you the rest of the way through to his chamber but know you cannot risk being caught.  Moments before he fades from your vision, he speaks.

“Anytime you want to see me, your highness, I am at your command.”  He rumbles.   A secret meaning dances in those golden irises. “I’m your loyal servant.”


End file.
